


What's My Name?

by MonkeyKnight



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Doomfist gets nerfed, Doomfist is Lawful Neutral change my mind, Dragonborn! Doomfist, Dungeons & Dragons References, F/M, Paarthurnax isnt sure what to do with this one, Spells mostly, Thalmor Being Assholes (Elder Scrolls), cant have him just punch alduin right off the bat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24801421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonkeyKnight/pseuds/MonkeyKnight
Summary: Flung into Skyrim by an incident he can't remember, Doomfist is reduced to Akande Ogundimu when he wakes up without his gauntlet. Now he must prove to himself that he is more than a wielder of the Doomfist Gauntlet, and show the world of Skyrim exactly who he is.If you ask him, Akande would rather fight the monkey.
Relationships: none yet
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Prisoner

Akande regained consciousness with a start as the horse cart he was sitting in jolted when it went over a small rock.

...horse cart?

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” As his vision cleared up, Akande was able to make out the source of the voice. A man with dirty blond hair and wearing what appeared to be a medieval soldier’s tunic was looking expectantly at him, as though waiting for an answer. When none came, the soldier continued. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Got caught in the middle of an Imperial ambush, same as us, and the thief next to me.”

Akande frowned. A simple ambush wouldn’t be enough to take him out, not when he was fully prepared for battle. What had happened...and why couldn’t he remember it?

“Damn you, Stormcloaks,” someone snarled. Looking to his right, Akande saw another man with brown hair wearing a rough-spun tunic. “Skyrim was fine until you came along; the Imperials were fat and lazy. If it weren’t for you lot, I could’ve been halfway to Hammerfell on that horse. You and me,” he continued, looking at Akande. “We shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks they want, not us.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, horse-thief.”

Akande glances down at his wrists, then the others’ hands. Sure enough, they were bound together, though his hands had been bound by chains where their hands were bound by rope.

At least these Imperials hadn’t underestimated him.

“What’s wrong with him, huh? Why’s he gagged?” the thief asked snarkily.

“Watch your tongue!” came the soldier’s retort. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!”

The aforementioned Ulfric glared balefully to his right, hiding most of his face from Akande’s view.

“U-Ulfric Stormcloak?! The Jarl of Windhelm? But you’re the leader of the rebellion! If they’ve captured you...oh gods. Where are they taking us?”

“I don’t know where we’re going,” the soldier answered. “But Sovngarde awaits.”

They rode in silence for a time, allowing Akande to process everything he’d just heard. _Something_ had happened to him, something strong enough to knock him out for a long enough period of time that allowed someone (presumably these Imperials) to remove his armor and weapons. On top of that, Akande had somehow been assumed to be in league with the Stormcloaks, and promptly arrested and bound to be sent to wherever they were going, with an execution facing him at the end of the line if the soldier’s tone were anything to go by.

Akande almost wished he were fighting the monkey again.

“Hey. What village are you from, horse-thief?” the soldier asked.

“What do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

The kindness in the soldier’s tone took the thief off guard, and he responded in a softer tone. “Rorikstead. I’m from Rorikstead.”

The soldier nodded, then turned to Akande. “What about you, Redguard? I’d assume Hammerfell, but some of your people have been born here in Skyrim, too.”

Thinking quickly, Akande cobbled together a story using the information given to him. “I am from Hammerfell. My family was nomadic, so we moved from city to city. I wanted to see the world as a result, though I wasn’t expecting this upon entering Skyrim.”

“What a horrible first impression we’ve given you, eh?” The soldier’s dry humor got a small laugh out of the thief, but little else. The thief started muttering prayers under his breath, the soldier closed his eyes and leaned back as much as the cart would allow, and Ulfric continued to stare at a point somewhere off of the cart.

Akande plotted.

Though his armor and gauntlet were gone (and whoever did that would come to regret it), the leader of Talon still had his natural strength and cybernetic enhancements. The chains would break easily enough, but the moment needed to be perfect, the distraction big enough. For now, he would sit and wait.

“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting.” The cart driver’s call interrupted Akande’s train of thought. Following the driver’s line of sight, Akande saw a gray-haired man in golden armor sitting atop a horse, conversing with a yellow-faced person in black robes. The general turned in his saddle, and for a moment his eyes met Akande’s. Then his gaze shifted, and his focus was completely on Ulfric.

“Good,” he stated. “Let’s get this over with.”

The thief’s prayers picked up, enough that Akande could make out the names of the gods he was praying to.

“Look at him. The high and mighty General Tullius, nothing but a dog to the Thalmor.” The soldier was staring with unbridled rage at the person in black robes. “Damn elves. Bet you anything they had something to do with this,” he spat.

Elves. Either it was a racial slur or elves actually existed.

The horse cart rounded the corner and the soldier lost sight of the people in black robes. He huffed, then looked at their surroundings.

“This is Helgen,” he said. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod still makes the mead with juniper berries mixed in.”

Akande said nothing, choosing to create a mental map of the town instead.

“It’s funny,” the soldier continued. “When I was a boy, Imperial walls made me feel safe.”

“Who are they, Papa? Where are they going?”

A boy’s voice, from behind Akande.

“You need to get inside, little cub.”

“But why? I wanna watch the soldiers.”

“Inside the house, Hamish. Now.”

They were too far away to hear the boy’s response. The cart rounded a corner to other carts unloading prisoners. Their cart pulled up next to the others, the loss of motion startling the thief out of his muttered prayers.

“W-what’s going on? W-why are we stopping?”

“What do you think?” the soldier responded. “End of the line.”

The cart stopped, and Ulfric stood first, stepping down off the cart. The thief followed, shaking in fear. “Let’s go,” the soldier sighed resignedly, standing up. “Don’t want to keep the gods waiting.”

Akande stood, walking to the edge of the cart and dropping off onto the ground, joining the group of captured soldiers and prisoners. An Imperial soldier in ornate steel armor addressed the group, “When your name is called, approach the block. One at a time!”

A second Imperial soldier with red hair began reading names from a book. “Ulfric Stormcloak,” he called. Standing tall and proud, Ulfric strode toward the block.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric,” the soldier called, and was echoed by others wearing the same armor.

“Ralof of Riverwood,” was the Imperial soldier’s next call. Wordlessly, the soldier who rode with Akande went to stand with his Jarl.

“Lokir of Rorikstead.”

“No, I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” cried the horse-thief. In his panic he took off, making a mad dash for freedom. “You won’t kill me!”

“Archers!” In response to the soldier’s call, other Imperial soldiers took aim and fired. Their shots hit their mark, and Lokir fell to the ground, dead or dying. “Anyone else feel like running?” she asked sarcastically.

No one moved. Akande decided she must be a captain or similar rank to have command over other soldiers. The captain snorted, and waved at the red-haired soldier, prompting him to continue.

One by one, the Stormcloak soldiers were called, until only Akande was left standing at the carts. The red-haired Imperial frowned, and went over the list, making sure he hadn’t missed anyone. He looked at Akande and asked, “Who are you?”

“Akande Ogundimu. I was crossing the border and somehow got caught in your ambush on the Stormcloaks.” There was a chance that he could get out of this without having to do anything drastic.

“What are you doing here, Redguard? You a sellsword? A sailor from Stros M’Kai?” The red-haired soldier didn’t wait for an answer, and turned to the female Imperial. “Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

Akande glanced at the captain. She was staring at him with a sneer on her face and barely hidden hate in her eyes.

It seemed racism was prevalent here in Skyrim.

“Forget the list. He goes to the block.”

“By your orders, captain.” The red-haired soldier turned back to Akande, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Hammerfell. Follow the captain, prisoner.”

Akande narrowed his eyes. “Make me.”

The red-haired soldier looked taken aback at the disobedience, and the captain looked enraged. “What was that?” the captain growled.

“I said, make me.”

The captain unsheathed her sword. “To the block, prisoner,” she shouted. “Now!”

The captain’s shout caught attention from everyone, including a particular Thalmor. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“L-Lady Elenwen! Apologies, but this prisoner refuses to cooperate,” the captain stammered. “Lady Elenwen” was one of the yellow-faced people Ralof had called Thalmor and elves. Sure enough, slightly hidden by her silver hair, were pointed ears, pointier than any human’s had a right to be. She didn’t bother looking at Akande, choosing instead to stare at the captain like the captain was an idiot.

“Then if the prisoner does not want his last rites, run him through right here. Honestly, how do Imperials get anything done?”

“Yes, Lady Elenwen.” The captain turned back to Akande, and Elenwen sniffed, steering her horse to the exit of Helgen. “Last chance, prisoner. Either you bleed out here in the streets, or you take your last rites and get sent to your gods.”

Akande committed Elenwen’s face to memory. He’d be tracking her down once he escaped this place. “Perhaps I was a bit too hasty,” he said. Acting now would draw too much attention. Akande would bide his time.

“I thought so. To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.”

Akande complied, joining the Stormcloak soldiers. Tuning out the droning voice of what he assumed to be a priestess, Akande took stock of his surroundings.

There was a roar in the distance.

...it couldn’t have been, and yet-

The roar sounded again, and Akande’s gaze snapped upwards, towards the black, winged, corporeal version of the spirits the Shimada clan was rumored to control.

“Dragon!” The cry came from one of the villagers, who had noticed Akande looking up and copied him to see what had been so important. Other villagers and Imperial soldiers looked to where the villager was pointing, their cries of alarm alerting the others who had yet to see the beast.

“Archers! Battlemages! Fall in!”

The Imperial soldiers complied with General Tullius’s orders, taking aim with arrow and magic as the dragon landed on the tower looming over the executioner’s block.

“Fire!”

Arrows and ice spikes ricocheted off of the dragon’s scales, firebolts splashed against it and lighting bolts struck faster than most creatures could move.

It did nothing. If anything, the dragon was amused by the attempts to attack it. It opened it’s maw and-

**“JIID SO DAAN!”**

-words came from its mouth instead of the fire Akande expected but the words brought _chunks of flaming rock from the sky he had to move_ -

A poorly executed dodge followed by a shoulder roll that would have his old martial arts masters berating him for days was sufficient enough to get out of the way of the flaming rocks from the sky, but the force of the rock landing knocked him dizzy and caused his vision to blur.

This was how it ended then. Lost in some country he’d never heard of, killed by a beast straight out of legend. Akande actually wanted to be fighting the monkey instead of this.

“Get up, Redguard!” Someone was tugging on him to no effect. Akande’s vision cleared enough that he could see familiar blue armor and blond hair. Ralof, the soldier who had ridden in the same cart as him, was attempting to help Akande. “Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance.”

Akande gritted his teeth and stood, shaking his head to help clear it. He was Akande Ogundimu, the Successor, wielder of the Doomfist Gauntlet. Damn if he died of a concussion of all things. Akande followed Ralof into a nearby tower, where Ulfric and other Stormcloak soldiers were taking cover. In his mind, Akande had two objectives:

Find his gauntlet.

Kill the dragon.


	2. Strategist

“Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages.” The jarl’s gaze swept across Akande. “You brought the Redguard.”

“He’s an enemy of the Imperials,” defended Ralof. “An enemy of our enemy-”

“Is our friend, yes. Well, Redguard? Are you a friend?”

Akande could understand where Ulfric was coming from. Akande was an unknown, and from the appearance of things, Redguards weren’t exactly welcome in Skyrim. “Your man risked his life to save mine when that dragon appeared. Until we escape this damned village, I’ll consider you and yours allies.”

“And after?”

“Depends on what happens.”

“Hmn. A pity you’re bound by chains, Redguard,” stated the jarl, no pity in his voice. Akande simply pulled, and the chains broke. Ralof swore, and Ulfric’s eyes widened marginally.

“You were saying?” Akande mocked. Before anyone could comment, the wall on the floor above them exploded inwards, and the dragon stuck his head in.

**“YOL TOOR SHUL!”**

A great gout of fire erupted from the dragon’s maw, reducing an unfortunate Stormcloak soldier to ashes. That was enough to satisfy the dragon, and it left as quickly as it came.

“Everyone! Go through that hole; it’s our only exit,” Ulfric commanded. “Redguard, you can come with us if you want, but make your decision now!”

“As I said, I’m with you,” Akande responded. He followed the Stormcloak soldiers, jumping through the roof of an inn and onto the second floor. A hole in the floor let the men drop down to ground level, with Akande bringing up the rear. A single glimpse out a broken window caused him to stop.

The red-haired Imperial was still alive, and trying to get a boy away from the dragon. Akande’s thoughts flickered through his mind, and arrived at a conclusion: the Imperials had his gauntlet, and here was one that could tell him where it was.

“Come on, Redguard, we can’t stay here!” Ralof had noticed Akande wasn’t moving, and doubled back to get him.

“Go on ahead. I have something I need to take care of,” responded Akande.

“Leave the Redguard. If he wants to seek revenge now, that’s his business. We’re leaving, right now!”

As the Jarl led his men away from the battlefield, Akande made his way to the red-haired Imperial, who had managed to get the boy away from the dragon and to an elderly man.

“Gods guide you, Hadvar,” the old man said, and then hustled the boy away. The newly-minted Hadvar turned to see Akande. The Imperial didn’t bat an eyelash at Akande being free of his bonds.

“Still alive, Redguard? Stay with me if you want to keep it that way.” With that, Hadvar moved, forcing Akande to follow. He would not lose his only chance at recovering his gauntlet. The two dodged meteors, falling debris, and even the dragon at one point, until Hadvar managed to lead Akande to the remnants of a platoon.

“Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier. We’re leaving!” shouted General Tullius. He had noticed Hadvar appear from the rubble, but missed Akande as the dragon made another pass.

“This way, Redguard, let’s go!” Once again, Akande was forced to follow Hadvar as the Imperial soldier ran to a battered keep. The dragon flew overhead, followed by arrows and spell projectiles, and it snatched a soldier off of a parapet, throwing the poor soul into the air and leaving the soldier to fall to his death. “Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!”

Ralof had come back for Akande, not content to leave him there alone. “We’re escaping, Hadvar. You won’t stop us this time.”

“Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde. Come on, Redguard, thi- ack!”

Hadvar had almost walked directly into the stream of fire coming from the mouth of the dragon, but Akande had bodily pulled him backwards and thrown him at the nearest keep door, knocking the soldier out on impact. Ralof ran towards the same door, survival instincts overriding his hatred of his enemy, bursting through the doors and hauling Hadvar inside. Akande followed, knowing he couldn’t beat the dragon as he was now.

The dragon watched this, and was amused. It didn’t care that three mortals escaped, it would surely get them later. For now, there was plenty more prey to play with.

* * *

“Why did you save him? He’s an Imperial soldier!”

Hadvar woke to Ralof yelling at Akande. The former leader of Talon had bound Hadvar with rope he found and sat down at a table, ignoring Ralof entirely. Hadvar cautiously looked around, seeing a circular stone room - likely an intersection of sorts. 

Akande noticed Hadvar’s movement and stood, finally answering Ralof’s question.

“Information.” With that single word, Akande stepped over to Hadvar, and lifted Hadvar with his right arm, not showing any signs of the task being difficult. “You are going to tell me where my gauntlet is.”

“W-What are you talking about?” 

Akande resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “When your soldiers decided I was a Stormcloak for some damn reason, I was wearing armor and an oversized gauntlet. I woke up in a horse cart with threadbare rags and chains around my wrists.  _ Someone  _ took my armor, and the Stormcloaks were tied up. So who has it, and where are they?”

“The Thalmor took your things, Redguard,” Ralof answered. Akande turned his head to the Nord, keeping Hadvar in his grip. “The Imperial soldiers confiscated our weapons. The Thalmor confiscated our valuables and anything that caught their eye. I overheard a few of them talking about a massive Redguard wearing a gauntlet that was just as big. They had to use spells to get it off.”

Akande unceremoniously dropped Hadvar, turning fully to Ralof. He wasn’t a cyborg - not like the younger Shimada brother - which meant he couldn’t run diagnostics on the neural ports for the Doomfist gauntlet without equipment. The only proof that the Thalmor hadn’t just ripped the gauntlet off of him was that his prosthetic right arm was functioning properly.

“Then it seems nothing has changed. You Stormcloaks are my allies until I reclaim my gauntlet.”

“What about him?” Ralof asked, gesturing to Hadvar. “Do we just leave him here?”

“No, wait! Don’t leave me behind,” Hadvar pleaded. “Ralof, you and I both have family in Riverwood. You know it’s the closest settlement to Helgen; that dragon could head there next! We need to warn them.”

Ralof visibly hesitated, looking to Akande for his opinion. Akande gave the Stormcloak an impassive look, not caring one way or the other.

“Rrgh...fine,” Ralof relented. Drawing a dagger, he cut Hadvar’s bindings and pulled him to his feet. The sound of wood tearing from stone drew their attention to Akande, who had destroyed the gate previously blocking their path.

“We have wasted enough time here. Let’s move!”

* * *

There were other Imperial soldiers and Stormcloaks in the keep, and it was only natural the trio would run into them. Thankfully, the danger of the dragon overrode the animosity between the Stormcloaks and Imperial soldiers, and an unsteady truce was struck. Until they reached Riverwood and went their separate ways, the two sides wouldn’t fight. 

It went well until the group found Thalmor.

Akande had nominated one of the Stormcloaks as a scout, to dart ahead and see if there were any dangers, while allowing the main group to rest. The scout slammed back stamina potions (Akande would process that later) that the Imperial soldiers had been carrying on them. Up until now, there hadn’t been any danger with the exception of some falling rocks as the dragon continued its rampage.

“There are Thalmor up ahead, sir! I overheard them say they’re making sure survivors don’t escape,” the scout reported. Some of the Imperial soldiers rolled their eyes and made to walk forward, but Akande stopped them, wanting to confirm something.

“Did they specify which survivors aren’t meant to escape?” asked Akande.

The scout nodded, looking slightly scared. Akande thought he couldn’t be more than seventeen years old. “One of them was clarifying with a superior officer, I think. Stormcloak, Imperial soldier, civilian, it doesn’t matter. Unless they’re Thalmor, they’ve got orders to kill them!”

One of the Imperial soldiers scoffed, but others looked like they believed the scout. Akande turned to Hadvar, a single brow raised. Hadvar caught the unspoken question.

“This...wouldn’t be out of character for the Thalmor,” he sighed. “There are rumors that they entice this war to gain power in the province of Skyrim, and while they’ve allied with us for this war, they certainly wouldn’t be a peacetime ally.”

Two factions fighting a war that a third party instigated or had a hand in starting? That sounded familiar. Regardless of similarities, the leader of Talon had enemies in front of him. Time to do his job.

“So, we have enemies to get past,” Akande said. All eyes were on him, and the former warlord was in his element: a group of soldiers hanging onto his words and ready to fight, needing only the motivation he was about to give them. “I don’t know why there’s a civil war going on, nor do I particularly care. What I do know is that some of you Imperial soldiers look similar to the Stormcloaks. You were born here in Skyrim, weren’t you?”

There were a few murmurs of agreement, though most Imperial Nords looked down and away from the Stormcloaks.

“You joined thinking you would defend your homeland, fighting threats from outside Skyrim, fighting for your home and your family. Instead, you find yourselves fighting your brothers and sisters, your fathers and sons, your mothers and daughters.

“I don’t claim to know the history of Skyrim, but you’ve fought for this land in the past, haven’t you. Your ancestors fought elves,” said Akande. It wasn’t a question, but all of the Stormcloaks and most of the Imperial Nords were nodding. “Well then. If the Thalmor are trying to gain power in Skyrim, why are you letting your ancestor’s work be for nothing?

“As for the rest of you,” he continued, letting the Nords think about what he said. “Perhaps you weren’t born here. You joined the Imperial Legion and were assigned here. You moved into Skyrim and joined up here, or you were born in Skyrim, but are simply of a different heritage. No matter the reason, you are here now, and you’ve just heard that your ‘allies’ mean to kill you. The rumor you’ve heard about the Thalmor is true, or at least has enough truth that they want to ensure no one leaves Helgen alive.

“I am going to fight my way out, and I will escape. I will not die by the hands of an elf or the teeth of a dragon. Not today.

“Are you with me?”

All of the soldiers, Imperial and Stormcloak, voiced their agreement, keeping the noise low so as not to alert the Thalmor. Akande grinned ferociously, knowing he had them hooked. These men would follow him, for now.

“Good,” he said. “Now, tell me what the Thalmor can do.”

* * *

Andronil shot another look to the cave ceiling as it rumbled from the rampaging dragon. His orders were to stay as long as possible to ensure no survivors made it out, but a cave-in seemed more and more possible with each passing moment. If no one else came through in the next few minutes, he and his men would pull out. As though summoned by Andronil’s thoughts, a group of Imperial soldiers entered the cave, dragging a Redguard prisoner behind them, his head bowed in submission. The sight of the gathered Thalmor brought the group to a slow halt. 

“Hail, Thalmor,” one of them said. Judging by his armor, he was a captain. “It’s good to see there are others who escaped the dragon.”

A proper Imperial, by the sound of his voice. No doubt he was a loyal soldier to the Empire. What a waste that he was stationed in Helgen. Andronil stepped forward, discreetly motioning to his agents. “Yes, what a relief,” the Thalmor Justicar drawled. “I presume you have a good reason for bringing a prisoner with you?”

“Yes, Justicar,” the captain responded. “I am under orders to get all of these men out of Helgen.”

Andronil’s agents were in place, surrounding the contubernium*. The soldiers shot the Thalmor wary looks, but made no movement. “Including the prisoner, captain?” Andronil ased. “Surely you could leave him here, to die by the dragon instead of the executioner’s blade.”

“Good soldiers follow orders, Justicar.”

Something felt off. The contubernium was too calm for people running from a dragon. Andronil’s eyes narrowed, the High Elf raising his hands to cast a spell. The soldiers reacted immediately, a cry of “Arma parate!” rising in the Imperial tongue**. Shields were raised and braced, wards were cast into existence, and Andronil knew that the soldiers were aware of the Thalmor’s orders. Still, they were Altmer, superior to lowly humans and the damn half-breed bastards. Their magic would outlast the shields and shatter the wards.

Then the prisoner  _ moved.  _

* * *

Dambe, one of many traditional forms of martial arts from West Africa, and Akande’s favored form of fighting. The style favored heavy attacks with the right fist, while defending or deflecting with the left hand. Needless to say, this style was well suited for the Doomfist gauntlet. While Akande didn’t have the gauntlet, his right arm was still prosthetic, still stronger than his left arm.

Left hand forward to intercept, right hand clenched and pulled back, ready to strike. Akande lunged out of the intentional gap in the shield line, driving his fist forward in an upwards swing, burying the prosthetic into the gut of the Thalmor agent. The Imperials took their cue beautifully, smoothly switching from defense to offense. Blades flashed, spells fired, and for a moment the Thalmor were overwhelmed. Only a moment.

The Thalmor rallied, fully believing in their superiority and greater numbers. They pressed back against the Imperials, ready to prove that mankind was beneath them.

The Stormcloaks then chose that moment to jump into the fight, and the Thalmor found themselves trapped between two different fronts. The Stormcloaks and Imperials worked in tandem, attacking the elves when they turned to face either side. Soon enough, the fight was over, Thalmor bodies littering the ground.

“Well done, all of you,” said Akande. “Come, let us leave these wretched caves.”

He led the group further in, hopefully towards an exit. The whispers of how fast Akande had moved and how hard he struck each Thalmor with only his fists was purposefully ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst...Doomfist isn't the only one that got transported.

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe the majority of Doomfist-centered stories are one-shots or hot Lucio/Doomfist smut? No? Go take a look then, and don't blame me when your eyes get burned by incredibly popular fist-on-frog action.
> 
> Also, looking at the lore for Hammerfell: the Imperials are mad racist.
> 
> Inspiration for the story: https://youtu.be/x8lQGmnbGIs


End file.
